


from me to you

by countingletters



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mutual Pining, honestly it's just emotionally constipated wonwoo doing his best, seungcheol is a dear, ship yourself with books bc they'll always love you forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingletters/pseuds/countingletters
Summary: when two bookworms fall in love, their hearts end up in a communion of all sorts: a pen to paper, a writer to a muse, a boy to a girl. it is what they believe to be, ultimately, where poetry meets prose.





	1. from her

 

It takes you a moment, perhaps two or three more, before you realize you’ve found the one. You smile as you gingerly pluck the chosen book from the classics shelf, almost too sure that you’ll enjoy the novel in your hand. You relish the idea until your giddy footsteps are put to a stop as you spot someone else occupying your favorite seat.

Still from a considerable distance, you peek at the culprit to take a better look at his features, as though in an attempt to size up your opponent. But after seeing him clearly—or as clearly as you can from behind another shelf—you soften, and find yourself admiring the perpetrator instead. As his eyes are glued to the book he’s reading, the sunlight coming from the big windows lightly kisses the rest of his body. There is almost something tranquil about the sight, as if he’s locked in a painting made for museums and galleries, for all the people to see and adore. The word “art” comes to mind as you stare a bit longer, taking note of his round glasses, of his sharp jaw line, and then- and then you look away.

Snapping from the trance, you feel the urge to laugh. This sort of a magical moment only ever happens in Japanese mangas and old fairytales, but you can’t help giving in to such a rare gift from serendipity. As you look at the boy one more time, the urge to smile defeats you. The upturn of your lips and the rhythmic _thump_ ,  _thump_ ,  _thump_ , can only mean one thing: your muse has _finally_ come.

 

* * *

 

_“Today, he is here again,”_ you write on your new notebook. It has been three days and ten journal entries since you first saw him. There’s something silly and almost lovesick about what you’re doing—writing about a man you barely know—but you tell yourself it’s only a muse-to-artist kind of attachment; there isn’t anything more, yet surely there’s nothing less.

 

* * *

 

_His eyes appear dead to the whole world,_

_But they come alive once they fall upon fine print._

_They haven’t found their way to the curious girl,_

_Yet she waits, patiently for a glance, or even just a squint._

 

Your fingers drift from the top of your journal’s final page, to the bottom where you stop to meet the corner. You sigh, wondering why you’re even bothering to write for him. It’s not something you can go back to, though, knowing full well you’ve finished a whole notebook with only him as your subject. Looking at the thing, with its pages slightly worn out and its cover looking thoroughly opened and closed, you tell yourself that the best way to thank your muse is to give the journal to him. Honestly, it scares you shitless, but there’s guilt gnawing at you sometimes at night and you think this is how you’ll somehow get rid of that. You pat yourself on the back for the genius idea because yes, that’s _exactly_ how all this anxiety and giddiness will be solved.

 

* * *

 

It’s quarter to eight o’clock in the morning and you’re sweating bullets in the air-conditioned library. Though not without blaming the non-existent heat, you try to focus on the task at hand: you need to subtly leave the notebook where your muse can find it and pick it up. If he reads it, then great, you can implode immediately after. If he doesn’t, then you’ll just have to rummage through wherever he threw your trash, and attempt to nurse back your (by then) damaged ego. Whatever happens, you believe, will have to be for the best.

And so, the clock finally strikes eight; you pretend to hurry after a class you still have an hour to get to, _accidentally_ forgetting the journal right where you know your muse will see it.

 

You don’t dare look back, not even once.


	2. from him

To Wonwoo, the girl with the dimpled smile and intense eyes is one of the three reasons why he even bothers to come to the campus library. The first reason would be because he’s trying out this “be more social” resolution, and this is the most he can do as an attempt. Second, he’s running low on cash and free digital books aren’t doing his eyes any good. And the third, and probably the most important reason, is that he gets to see you.

Initially, he didn’t think going to a public place—even if it’s the library—was a good idea for someone like him. He thought it’d be for naught, staying in the campus longer than he should be and having to remain in contact with other people, even from just a distance. And he was so close to being right; until he came across a sight he never thought he’d be drawn to as much as he had been before with countless books. Only, this time it wasn’t with a book, it was with a girl– no, a woman, given how you moved with a grace that’s been matured to maintain a natural elegance. You perused the shelves as if you were walking through and around your home. How he saw it, you made the library yours. And like a queen reigning over your own castle, you rule with all the books pledging allegiance to their monarch.

* * *

Of all the times Wonwoo’s supposed to notice you, he misses the one instance that he should have been able to see you (curse the book for taking up all his attention). Instead, he only knows there’s a lone notebook under the table nearest him. Picking it up but not wanting to open it (in respect to the owner’s privacy), he wonders whose it is. He hopes it’s yours, but there are about half a hundred students who frequent their considerably large library and he’s not keen on meeting any of them.

With an unsolicited responsibility at hand, he stands from his usual spot and walks towards one of the few people he does know in school: his friend since freshman year, Seungcheol.

“Hey man.” His baritone voice is reduced to a deep whisper, which slightly startles Seungcheol from typing. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Was a bit surprised is all.” Seungcheol chuckles.

Wonwoo sits directly across his friend as he places the notebook between them. “I found this journal lying on the floor and thought you’d enjoy this kind of mystery.”

Seungcheol’s eyes light up at the words of his friend as he immediately takes an interest in the curious thing. So much for reviewing for the next test—Seungcheol would rather take on a chance like this and maybe meet someone interesting along the way. He grins at Wonwoo and takes hold of the offered journal, giving his friend his thanks before packing his things to go look for the (hopefully cute) owner.

Wonwoo gives him an awkward (but much appreciated) two thumbs up, before going back to reading his book. Reality is forgotten once more as another world consumes him, not knowing it will come bite him back after he gave her journal away.

* * *

When the library opens again on Monday, Wonwoo comes in with a hopeful look on his face. He walks to where he’s usually seated and makes his own happy place right there, just as he does every time he’s in the comforts of this book-filled facility. But only five minutes or so have passed when the happy place all of a sudden turns into a spot for heartache: you have finally arrived, but so has Seungcheol, with your fingers intertwined.

“I’d like you to meet my lobster.” It has been a week since the journal mystery was solved, but it’s only now that Wonwoo is finding out just who exactly the true owner is. He has to blink a few times before the kick in the gut finally takes an effect on him. “(Your name), Wonwoo. Wonwoo, (Your name). Girl who writes meets the boy who reads.”

Wonwoo nods, “Hi.”

You look back at him, mimicking his neutral expression. “Hey.”

Seungcheol doesn’t catch the subtle tension, but ends up thickening it anyway and says, “Hey man, if it wasn’t for the journal you handed to me awhile back, I wouldn’t have met her.”

 _“Oh dear God”_ is what Wonwoo wants to say, but “No problem, glad to be cupid's accomplice once in a while” is what comes out of him instead.

Before Wonwoo can force himself to add anything else, Seungcheol excuses himself to go to the bathroom. A part of Wonwoo feels a heavy weight threatening to push him to the ground when he watches Seungcheol plant a kiss on your temple. Yet the sound of something cracking begins as you answer the gesture with a soft smile, causing Seungcheol’s heart to melt and Wonwoo’s to throb. He didn’t want to see that exchange, but he tells himself it’s better this way.

“I’ll be right back.”

You nod, “And I’ll be right here.”

Wonwoo is still quietly nursing the sting in his chest when you speak up, “About the journal… can you pretend it wasn’t about you? I mean, I know that notebook’s filled with poems about you and it must seem so creepy this way, so…” You take a deep breath, composing yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you. “Just forget about it, okay?”

Without giving him any time to reply, you immediately stand from your seat and go, “I’ll be going around and look for some books at the classics section, just in case Seungcheol comes back before I do.”

Seconds after you disappear into a corner of your haven, Seungcheol arrives with his usual dopey smile. Wonwoo is well aware of what he’s about to say next: “Thanks for the chance, buddy. I think I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“You read her stuff?”

“No, but I’m sure her writing’s just as amazing as she is. Anyway, she might say yes to me anytime now, so I’m already introducing her to some of my friends. And I thought it’s just right that you’re one of the first to know, since it’s all because of you that I was able to meet her in the first place.”

Happiness for his friend should be the right thing to feel at this point, but it’s hope for even a sliver of a chance with you is all that’s occupying his mind as Wonwoo smiles back at Seungcheol.


	3. to us

While the men are having their exchange, you find momentary solitude with your pen and a notebook you bought just after meeting Seungcheol for the first time. Peeking from a safe hidden spot, you take glances at the two boys and place your thoughts on the blank paper before you. If the first journal was of shy hellos and subtle confessions, the journal with you right now will be one of belated apologies and repeated goodbyes. You don’t fail to write how you could have had your very first “hello,” if only it weren’t too late.

You walk back to the table, with books in your arms. You have that wistful look on your face, and it suits you so much. Wonwoo almost tells you you look beautiful, but Seungcheol beats him to it.

 

* * *

 

You go home with Seungcheol that day, leaving Wonwoo at the library—right at the spot where you left your journal before, right where you could have had something if Wonwoo hadn’t missed his chance.

 

* * *

Another week passes and when he sees you again this time, you’re alone.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Is Seungcheol coming?” He asks without him realizing—so much for not being awkward and lame.

You soften, like you’re regretting something. “He’s not- I mean we’re not-“ You try an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. Your friend is really sweet, but I can’t.” You look directly at him, and it makes him weak. “Thanks for at least trying to hook us up though.”

Wonwoo’s just about to answer when you receive a text from a friend. “Sorry, I need to go. It was really nice seeing you again, Wonwoo.”

There, there you go again.

 

The time you take to leave is enough for things to sink in with Wonwoo. Now with something (and someone) in mind, he gets up from his seat and quickly packs his things, hoping he’ll be able to catch up to you. But before he can get his start, he notices the two journals placed on the table in front of your seat. He recognizes the first journal on top—the one that started it all—and then he sees another, the one that might just put an end to everything you did have and almost had. Somehow, he knows you left them there for him, and so with your words to take home, he finally reads them both.

 

* * *

 

He reads them again, and then another, and then again. He wants to consume every word. He wants you to know that he understands now why you couldn’t say yes to Seungcheol, why Wonwoo can’t stop thinking about you.

As you have written your final goodbye, he writes to you his very first hello.

On a new notebook, the third to your collection, he writes what he feels about you, just as you have for him. Because of this, Wonwoo has stopped going to the library for a while. He stays in his room where the silence will speak to him, and he surrenders himself to his own emotions day and night.

 

You don’t know that though; you aren’t aware of it. His absence meant it couldn’t work out between the both of you. His lack of an answer is clear.

Back in the library, you stand up from your seat to find new books to devour. This time, instead of writing them, you’d like to discover someone else’s tragedies. Admittedly, you’re tired of dealing with your own for now.

One, two, three, four, five. You know it isn’t right to smile, having found some pieces that might hold a story just like yours, but you smile anyway. All the more it is to feel like you’re part of the world around you.

All the more it is to consume you.

As you walk back to your seat, you notice a familiar hoodie with its owner’s back facing you. He’s sitting right across your seat. You know, oh god, you hate that you do. Your footsteps become quicker, more silent, and when you arrive, you do your utmost best to feign indifference towards everything around you. Including, especially, him.

_Wait, no, isn’t that obvious?_ You tell yourself this isn’t some dramatic scene from a romantic movie. You can’t ignore him like this. You have to at least-

“Hello.” His voice sounds just like the one you described in your previous journal: _The feeling of home spills from his lips, gently finding its way to match the vibrations of my beating heart._

“Hey,” you answer back. _I missed you_. “How have you been?”

“Great, okay, fine.” Now this is a good start, isn’t it? Right? You can hear the smile on his face, knows it’s there if you look up now. You want to, so so much.

He asks, “How about you?” and for a moment, you almost tell him you’re still in love with him. The words dangle so close at the edge that if you don’t hold them back, you can lose yourself to him again.

“Great, okay, fine.” You answer back, this time trying a small smile yourself. Wonwoo takes the chance to look up and see it for himself, careful not to look too eager but probably failing to seem so.

You both laugh at this, eyes now upon each other. _This is nice_ , you think. _I can settle with nice._

“That’s good to hear. Any books you’re interested in right now?” Wonwoo has never asked something like this before and you’ve never gone far from the usual small talk.

“I finished reading the last one just minutes ago. I’m afraid I have nothing right now.” You chuckle, revealing your empty palms. “How about you? Any suggestions?”

Wonwoo keeps a hint of a smile just a bit close to appearing, fishing a book from his bag. “Maybe you can give this one a try?”

He offers you a black hardbound book, and you take the other end of it before smiling gratefully at him. “Maybe I shall. Thanks for letting me borrow this.”

You know asking what it’s about will only sacrifice the excitement of the unknown for you, so you keep the question to yourself. You’ll know what it is when you open it. You’re just about to when-

“Oh, no, don’t open it yet. Read it when you get home. It’s a lot better to read when you’re alone.” The way he says it sounds sheepish, but you don’t continue on wondering why. You guess you’ll just have to take his word for it.

As if on cue, the clock puts an end to your little exchange and urges Wonwoo to leave. Gathering his things, he gives you a softer smile than the one before and says, “And the book’s yours. It’s always been.”

 

* * *

 

 

_I suppose you believe that this is where_

_The curtains will fall, and our hearts will tear,_

_But I refuse to let the pen meet any surface,_

_Other than our paper, other than our preface._

_Darling, you have made a writer out of your muse,_

_Now he’s desperate, afraid that it’s you he’ll lose,_

_On his knees, with his heart, his soul, his mind, his body to offer,_

_He hopes to one day write your happy ending, with him as your co-author._

 

**This is from me, to you.**


End file.
